Death, Taxes, and Magic
by Dr. Platypus
Summary: How does a wizarding school with a German name and Slavic students and teachers end up at a secret location in the far north of Europe? Here is one possible explanation of the geographical oddity that is Durmstrang Institute.
1. Kolduna Bazar

Kolduna Bazar was always busier in the early morning than Highmaster van Durmstrang thought it should be. The smells of incense, wood fires, and potion ingredients were so strong they were nearly intoxicating. The bright, clashing colors of banners and awnings hanging from every stand and storefront seemed to cast a kind of Confounding Charm on the place.

Even so soon after daybreak, the narrow, winding street was full of merchants hawking their wares in a dozen languages to potential customers. Most spoke Russian, but Highmaster van Durmstrang thought he recognized several other local dialects. As usual, there were a fair number of German-speakers—not only Germans but Lithuanians, Estonians, and others who found it easier to do business in that language. A Latvian witch and a merchant Durmstrang knew to be English had even resorted to haggling in Latin over the price of a copper cauldron. Others, apparently Slavs from further south, seemed to be getting along in Church Slavonic.

A couple of swarthy Mongol wizards had set up a table where they sold fabric made from some sort of ape from the Far East. The hair of this beast, they claimed, could be spun into the finest Invisibility Cloak material in the world.

Goblin money-changers converted every kind of wizard and Muggle money into the wizarding currency of Novgorod. Bat-eared elves, some dressed only in tattered loincloths, crisscrossed the wizards' marketplace on errands for their masters.

Near the center of this storm of commerce stood the premises of Ewald van Lübeck. It was here that the Highmaster headed. The old wooden building was Koduna Bazar in microcosm. A jumble of trunks and crates of various sizes lined the walls. There were stacks of cauldrons, scales, mortars, and pestles on one of two huge oaken tables. On the other were a collection of smaller boxes. Four or five broomsticks were mounted on the walls along with a small collection of goblin-wrought swords and battle axes. A fire was blazing in the fireplace. The Highmaster doffed his blood-red cloak and slung it over his arm.

"Ewald!" he called.

"Come in, Hoogmester van Durmstrang," came the answer from a back room concealed by an ornate tapestry suspended across the doorframe. Out popped a short balding man with a button nose and an oversized black moustache. "I take it you heard we'd finally arrived?"

"Obviously."

"Bad weather kept us at Visby a week longer than I had hoped," he smiled, "but we've finally made it. Your students are helping me unload my cargo. I'll need them another day at least."

"Of course, Ewald," the Highmaster said. "I hope they didn't cause you any trouble."

"Not at all, Ghert. And there's a new one: a boy named Detleff. Ilse's younger brother."

The Highmaster frowned. "I didn't realize a new Novice would be starting. How is his Russian?"

"Fair, I suppose," Ewald shrugged.

"It had better be more than 'fair.' I won't have him slowing down the rest of the class if he can't keep up."

"Ilse and the others have been working with him. I don't think he'll have any problems."

"Let's hope not. Now, were you able to procure the things I asked about on your last trip?"

"I've got them all right here," the merchant smiled, ushering the Highmaster to one of the larger trunks on the floor near the back room. He pulled a wand from inside his tunic and used it to magic the lock and lift up the lid.

"The books were the hardest. But I know a wizard in Hamburg who has connections from London to Krakow. He had to send to Italy for _The__ Life __of __Kalonymus_."

Highmaster van Durmstrang considered a small wood-bound codex. "And the others?" he asked. Ewald van Lübeck shuddered.

"Yes, Highmaster, the bookseller you mentioned in London was, erm, quite helpful." He pulled two more volumes from the trunk. There was a leather-bound first edition of Godelot's _De__ magia __pravissima_ as well as _De __artium __atrissimorum__ arcanis,_another wooden book with shiny bronze hinges. The Highmaster leafed through this second book with great interest.

"I should tell you, Hoogmester," Ewald said, "that the tariffs on these two were ridiculous. Practically an insult."

"You will be duly compensated," the Highmaster drawled.

"If you ask me, the Warlocks' Duma is being completely unreasonable. Even on my more…harmless goods, the taxes are steeper every year than the year before."

"Prince Andrei's foolishness four years ago has only made it worse," the Highmaster said with a contemptuous sneer. "As if the Mongols wouldn't take notice of his plotting! If Prince Aleksandr hadn't already bowed before the Great Khan, Nevruy's armies wouldn't have left two stones stacked together in the entire land. Since then, the Warlocks' Duma has demanded a greater slice of the pie—but so have the _basqaqs_."

The Highmaster returned the three books to the crate where he found them and spent several minutes inspecting the rest of his goods. He was glad to see such a large quantity of scurvy grass and crocodile heart—items hard to come by so far north. The dragon's blood seemed fresh enough, and properly sealed for a change. He disputed the quality of the cockatrice feathers, however, and found several of the finished potions lacking ("Master Gridebor could do better in his sleep!" he scoffed).

"I will expect my students no later than Sunday," the Highmaster said. "I'll take the books now and send elves for the rest this afternoon. Good day, Herr Ewald."

"Good day, Hoogmester."

The Highmaster marched back the way he came. "Tariffs!" he cursed under his breath. He had taught in Novgorod for twenty-five years, and it galled him to no end to get such little support from the Warlocks' Duma.

_Wait__ until __the _basqaqs _edge __them__ out __completely_, he thought. _They__'__re__ fools __if __they __think __it __won__'__t __happen. __Aleksandr __Iaroslavich __knows__ full __well __he __had __better __give __them __whatever __they __ask __for. __They__'__ll __take __whatever __they __can __get__—__and __I__'__d __like __to __see __the __Warlock__s' __Duma __stop __them_.

He slipped out of the Kalduna Bazar and wound through the twisting alleyways of Muggle Novogorod, finally crossing over into Carpenter's End. Unlike Novgorod's other five boroughs, Wizard's End comprised a string of disconnected nodes along the Merchant Side of the city. Furthest south were the offices of the Warlocks' Duma near Iaroslav's Court and the Great Bridge, then Kolduna Bazar near Market Square, and finally Mastera Volost, a wizarding neighborhood hidden away just across the bridge into Carpenter's End.

The Highmaster's destination was an unassuming compound near the north end of Mastera. No Muggle had ever set foot inside Durmstranga Dvor—and precious few wizards who were not the Highmaster's handpicked teacher or students. The iron gates that separated Durmstranga Dvor from the outside world dissipated like smoke as the Highmaster passed through them, then quickly re-formed themselves.

He strode across the courtyard to main house, then up the narrow stairway to his private office. A gray-haired woman was waiting for him in his anteroom.

"Out early, Ghert?" she said.

"I received an owl from van Lübeck first thing this morning," he shrugged. "He's finally arrived. Be sure to send a couple of elves later to collect our crates."

"Of course."

"Did you know Ilse has a brother? He's expecting to begin training this year."

"I believe she has mentioned him."

He opened the door to his office and stood in the doorway. "I take it you wanted to see me, Nadezhda?"

The older woman followed the Highmaster inside his Spartan office.

"You received another owl after you left," she said. "A snowy."

"From the north?" the Highmaster's interest was suddenly piqued.

"The Cyclopes want to know when they're going to get paid."

The Highmaster uttered a Low German curse that Nadezhda couldn't understand, but of which she had no trouble guessing the general import. "Everybody thinks I'm made of money!"

He sat down at his writing desk and examined the letter, unopened, that Nadezhda offered him.

"I thought you had read it," he said. Nadezhda tapped her temple and grinned slyly.

"I don't suppose I want to ask if there have been any changes in your visions."

"None, Highmaster."

"Then we'll have to find a way to pay them," the Highmaster sighed. "We're almost out of time."

* * *

><p>• J. K. Rowling most likely intended the name Durmstrang as a play on "Sturm und Drang," the name of an eighteenth-century German literary movement. Phonologically, the word is clearly meant to be German, but no plausible etymologies come to mind. For purposes of this story, I suggest you squint, hold your head at the proper angle, and imagine it to be the name of the Highmaster's ancestral village back in Saxony.<p>

• German cities such as Lübeck dominated trade in the Baltic region throughout the thirteenth century. A few generations later, Novgorod became the easternmost trading post of the Hanseatic League (14th-17th cent.). (The westernmost was London.) Merchants would travel through the Gulf of Finland to Saint Petersburg, up the Neva River to Lake Ladoga, then up the Volkhov River to Novgorod to conduct business.

• Old Church Slavonic was a prestige language in medieval Russia, much as Latin was in the medieval West. Medieval speakers of its daughter languages (Old Russian, Bulgarian, Serbian, etc.) had an advantage over their western counterparts, however, in that their native languages had not yet drifted as far from Slavonic as French or Spanish, for example, had from Latin.

• Novgorod came under Mongol control in 1237. In 1252 a Mongol horde devastated the regions of Pereslavl-Zalessky and Suzdal in retaliation for the anti-Mongol activities of Aleksandr Nevskiy's younger brother, Andrei, and his co-conspirator, Danylo of Halych.

• _Basqaqs_ were Mongol tribute-collectors.

• Medieval Novgorod was divided into five boroughs or "ends," of which Carpenter's End (_Plotnitskii__ konets_) was located in the northeast quadrant. The east bank of the Volkhov was known as the "Merchant's Side"; the west bank the "Sophia Side" after Saint Sophia Cathedral.


	2. Durmstranga Dvor

Classes began the Monday after the Nativity of the Theotokos. The Russian students had been arriving for a week or more. The Germans and Balts that Ewald van Lübeck transported arrived in plenty of time to settle in their dormitories. Ilse's brother Detleff seemed to keep up well enough, but the Highmaster made it clear to everyone at morning assembly that the boy would receive no special treatment. If he couldn't follow along in Russian, no one was allowed to translate for him.

Despite the Highmaster's misgivings, Detleff proved to be a very bright and eager boy who had no troubles with the language. After a month and a half, he had shown himself to be the most talented Novice at Durmstranga Dvor—to the joy of his proud older sister.

As October turned to November, students and teachers began to prepare for the long Russian winter. Outdoor excursions, either to the gardens or outside the city walls to encounter magical creatures, were discontinued. Instead, homework assignments got longer. Most nights the Scriptorium was packed with frantic Novices and Intermediates copying page after page of some magical tome.

The Highmaster's first class on the first day of the Nativity Fast was History and Philosophy of Magic with his Intermediate and Adept students. He was pleased that everyone seemed to follow his discussion of Kalonymus's contributions to the development of magic—although of course they groaned inwardly when he assigned his Intermediates to copy an entire chapter from the _Life__ of __Kalonymus_ for next week. His Adepts were given the same assignment, plus preparing to debate the advantages of Kalonymus's approach to Transfiguration over that of Rowenne of Ravenclaw.

He then dismissed the Intermediates to their Potions class with Master Gridebor so he could work on the Dark Arts with his Adepts. There were five students in this category, ranging in age from fourteen to sixteen. In addition, his two oldest and most accomplished students, seventeen-year-old boys who liked to style themselves the "Sons of Durmstang," attended these lessons and assisted the Highmaster in teaching them. These two, Abakum, a Russian, and a Finn by the name of Pentti, magicked the long writing benches to the sides of their Highmaster's large classroom to create an open space in the center.

"Let us take up where we left off last week," the Highmaster began. Everyone gathered around him. "You have already been exposed to the Zapovedi Curse. Before we move on, we must review both how to cast this particular spell and practice resisting its effects." He eyed the students gathered around him, searching for a suitable pair. Finally, he settled on Doben, the youngest student in this advanced group. "Doben," he said, "I'd like you to attempt the spell on…Vietso. Vietso, you must gather your thoughts and attempt to resist, do you understand?"

Vietso nodded his head, but looked unconvinced. The two boys squared off facing each other at about seven paces. Doben pulled his wand from the leather sheath at his belt. Both boys took deep breaths.

Doben furrowed his brow, flicked his wand, and said, "_Povel__'__jo!_"

Vietso seemed mildly dazed. He stood in place, arms loosely at his side.

"Vietso," he said, "I would like you to…cluck like a chicken!" The look on Vietso's face indicated he thought this was the strangest request he had ever heard.

"You cannot use the subjunctive!" the Highmaster said, slapping Doben on the back of his head. "Only the imperative, or you'll never master the Zapovedi. Again!"

Doben leaned forward and tried again. "Cluck like a chicken!" he said. As soon as the words had left his mouth, Vietso began to do exactly what Doben said. The other students laughed out loud.

"That's more like it. Well done, Doben Siderov." The Highmaster gestured silently with his wand and removed Vietso from his classmate's control.

"Another pair. Evert, attempt the Zapovedi Curse on…" he scanned the room for a suitable target for the wiry German sixteen-year-old. "Yes, I believe Krasa Baikisheva will do."

The only girl among the Highmaster's Adepts took up her place on the floor. Evert pulled out his wand.

"Watch out, Krasa!" her classmates called. "Get ready for him."

Evert glanced at his teacher, then at his best friend Vietso. "_Povel__'__jo!_" he cried. Krasa stood her ground. Evert attempted the incantation again. This time, her eyes went blank just as Vietso's did.

Evert stared at Krasa for several tense seconds. "Any time now, Evert," the Highmaster said.

"Come over here, Krasa," Evert said at last, "and give me a kiss!" His classmates oohed and tittered. Krasa sashayed toward the German boy, batting her dark eyelashes. Evert smiled and pursed his lips as Krasa reached out her arms and set them softly on his shoulders.

Then she said, "Hah!" and kneed him. He crumpled to the floor, and the class burst into laughter and applause.

"It would take more than a Zapovedi to make me kiss a toad like you!" she exulted.

"Well played, Krasa Baikisheva," the Highmaster said, "For a minute even I thought you had succumbed to Evert's curse." Addressing the class, he added, "Your most powerful weapon is often deceit. Let your enemy think he has the upper hand; it can trick him into dropping his guard."

Evert crawled to the nearest wall.

"Now, while Evert attempts to recover," the laughter continued, "the rest of you pair off and practice again. You will observe that resisting the Zapovedi Curse is in some ways comparable to Occlumency—a comparison we shall explore in coming weeks." The Highmaster paced back and forth. At last he said, "Vietso, see what you can do against Krasa. And Doben and Kadibor. Proceed."

For the next half-hour, the Highmaster oversaw his students' practice. Those who performed at the highest level went on to face either Abakum or Pentti—a daunting task, either as spell-caster or as resister. Everyone was mentally exhausted by the time the Highmaster dismissed them to their Spell-Casting class with Master Dravenis.

Highmaster van Durmstrang magicked the tables and benches back into place so they would be ready for the Novices and their History lesson. The first to arrive was a young girl from Dantsig named Grete.

"Herr Hoogmester," Grete whispered, eyes wide. Since beginning studies at Durmstranga Dvor last autumn, the Highmaster could not remember the tiny blonde-haired girl ever addressing him.

"What is it, Grete?"

"Forgive me, Herr Hoogmester, but Madame Nedel'ka sent me to tell you there is a stranger at the gate."

"Someone looking for me, I take it?"

The girl nodded.

"Then take your seat, Grete, and I thank you for delivering our housekeeper's message."

The Highmaster left it to Abakum and Pentti to drill the Novices in their lessons as he attended to the unscheduled visitor. As he strode across the courtyard, he saw that Madame Nedel'ka was still leaning into the bars of the gate, hands on her hips, studying the visitor pacing on the other side.

"This must be a terribly interesting stranger," the Highmaster said. The housekeeper started and whipped around far more quickly than her stout build would have suggested was possible.

"Highmaster van Durmstrang!" she cried. "You ought never sneak up on an old woman that way!"

"My apologies, Madame Nedel'ka. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Ain't no matter," she said. "He's no odder than most, I guess." She gestured beyond the gate with a calloused thumb. Outside the gate stood a tall, broad-shouldered Slav in his sixties—about the same age as the Highmaster—in a fine, fur-lined cloak. He rocked back and forth on his heels, obviously in a state of confusion. He was looking for something, but had no idea where to start. The Highmaster scowled as he realized where he had seen this wizard before.

"I believe we can let him in, Nedel'ka," the Highmaster drawled. "He doesn't seem particularly dangerous." He passed his hand in front of a stone gargoyle to one side of the gate and the iron bars flung open. The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of creaking metal and the sudden appearance, in the middle of what had seemed to him a solid stone wall, of a vast iron gate.

"Welcome to Durmstranga Dvor."

"H-Highmaster van D-Durmstrang," the stranger stuttered. He quickly composed himself and stepped inside the compound. "M-my name is Bolda Ch-Chortov. I am here on behalf of the Warlocks' D-Duma."

"Of course you are," the Highmaster commented. "I suppose you're here to collect some sort of tax or fee that I've somehow neglected to keep up with."

"No, Highmaster."

"No? Then do come in. We can visit in my sitting room."

The two men hurried inside, away from the icy wind. The Highmaster called for a house-elf to bring a couple of wooden cups of warmed medovukha.

"Highmaster," the emissary from the Warlocks' Duma began, "I-I have come because of some d-disturbing news we have received from the c-court of the Great Kh-khan."

The Highmaster frowned. Bolda Chortov continued.

"The Great Khan intends to call for a census of Novgorod. We have heard this from his own court wizards."

"I see." Mistress Nadezhda always insisted that Divination was an inexact science. Free will and random happenstance imposed too many variables to account for with precision. Why, then, did she always have to be right when she foresaw disaster?

"The Warlocks' Duma expects me to do something about this?"

"The Warlocks' D-Duma needs to know where you s-stand," Bolda Chortov said. He forced himself to swallow and took a sip of his medovukha. "Y-you surely realize there can be only one reason for s-such a census."

"Indeed," the Highmaster scowled. "The same reason the Warlocks' Duma insists every year on an accounting of how many students I board at Durmstranga Dvor. To squeeze as much gold out of me as possible."

"Th-the Duma has been very generous to your school, Highmaster," Bolda protested. "We ask far less from you than any comparable sized dwelling in M-Mastera Volost."

"There _are_ no comparable sized dwellings in Mastera Volost!"

There was a long, uneasy silence.

"Even so," Bolda said. "You know what will happen when the Muggles get wind of what's coming. Everyone remembers what Nevruy did a few short years ago. They won't take kindly to any further humiliations."

"Then I suppose the Duma needs to decide whom they fear more, the Muggles or the _basqaqs_."

* * *

><p>• The Feast of the Nativity of the Theotokos (i.e., the Virgin Mary) is celebrated on the 8th of September.<p>

• Given the absence of a printing press and thus of affordable textbooks, copy work was often an intrinsic part of medieval education.

• The Nativity Fast, comparable to Advent in the Latin church, begins in mid-November.

• Rowenne is one of several possible Middle English spellings of the name Rowena.

• Dantsig (modern Danzig) is the German name of Gdańsk, Poland. The city was a home to several German merchant settlements since the twelfth century.

• Medovukha is a mildly alcoholic mead, long a popular drink in medieval Russia.


	3. Brunt

The Feast of the Nativity came and went. Winter had fully come to Novgorod, and with it word of the Great Khan's planned census of the city. As everyone in the wizarding community predicted, the Muggles were up in arms. The Highmaster feared what might happen when the _basqaqs_ finally arrived, but he had more pressing matters on his hand. On the morning of Theophany, he left his school in the able hands of his colleagues and headed north.

The journey was too far to Apparate in a single jump. Two jumps would do it, but this time the Highmaster broke it up into even shorter trips. He wanted to be as familiar with the terrain as possible. His first stop was Lake Ladoga, at the mouth of the Volkhov River. From there, he headed east along the Svir to Lake Onega. Then he turned north and passed through the network of small lakes and swamps that graced the Upper Vyg. This, the Highmaster knew, would be the greatest challenge. Come the spring, he would have to see what these marshes looked like unfrozen—and hopefully find a vodyanoy or rusalka he could deal with for passage.

The Upper Vyg emptied into Lake Vyg, and from their the Lower Vyg emptied into Onega Bay and the White Sea near a Karelian village called Soroka. He Apparated across to the peninsula on the other side, noted how the low hilly terrain rose into low-lying mountains as he travelled further west, and at last arrived at his destination. The entire trip had taken him half a week. He was weary, but eager to learn what he had come to find out.

He pulled his blood-red cloak tight around his body as the winter wind assailed him. He had visited the spot before a year ago. He knew that it was normally warmer than would have been expected so far north, but high winds moving in off the sea still stung.

Despite the biting cold, he reveled in the pristine beauty of the snow-covered scene: the mountains to his back, the icy river flowing lazily into the northern sea. The grounds were extensive, but with few trees—only shrubs and grasses, now covered with an ample blanket of snow. With no other light but the stars overhead and the illumined wand in his hand, it was a stark and breathtaking scene, and even moreso when the Highmaster considered that it was still dark at mid-morning. The sun had not risen on this unearthly vista in over a month.

He turned to walk toward the castle.

As he approached the squat, black walls, he began to hear the voices of the workmen and the constant thudding of their tools against stone and metal. The foreman saw the Highmaster coming and strode out to meet him.

"Good day, Brunt," the Highmaster called.

Brunt nodded in reply. As best the Highmaster could determine, the foreman was tall for a Cyclops at just over twelve feet. He wore a simple tunic and leggings, but his bald head was uncovered. His thick leather boots might have taken the skins of half a dozen reindeer to make. He peered down at the Highmaster with his single amber eye, set near the center of his brutish face.

"Highmaster," Brunt said. His Russian was fluent, but strangely accented.

"Brunt, I need to know when your men will be finished."

"Quality work takes time, Highmaster."

"And gold, no doubt."

The Cyclops chortled. "If you doubt that you're getting your money's worth, Highmaster, you're welcome to choose another contractor. Of course, bringing them here in the dead of winter might pose a problem…"

"I'm simply asking when you expect you'll be finished, Brunt. I don't need a lesson in labor management."

"As I told you, Highmaster, quality work takes time. And my workers and I do quality work. Don't forget, we Cyclopes built the walls of Troy."

"Not the most ringing endorsement, Brunt," the Highmaster scowled. "And that was over two thousand years ago. What is the likelihood that these walls will be completed before another two thousand years have passed?"

"Well," the Cyclops began, scratching the back of his head, "the main load-bearing walls are all in place in the keep and, as you can see, the outer wall is coming along fine. We've got the south tower to finish up and then the crenelations and parapets all around. Of course, I'll hire out a lot of the interior work—just too cramped for my Cyclopes to get to. There's a Hyperborean wizard I usually work with. His men do a good job, but getting them at this time of year might cost a little extra."

The Highmaster glared up at the foreman.

"Get it done," he scowled, "the sooner, the better. But not another Obol until the job is finished, do you understand?"

With a final venomous glance, the Highmaster turned on the spot and Disapparated. He reappeared with a _crack!_ near Soroka, the village he had visited on his journey north. He was in a foul mood. In fact, he was itching to curse someone, and hoped for a brief second that one of his students had failed to master his lessons.

* * *

><p>• Theophany is what western Christians call Epiphany, the 6th of January.<p>

• The city of Belomorsk on the shore of the White Sea was originally known as Soroka.

• Warmed by the Gulf Stream, the Kola Peninsula is warmer than one might expect. The average January temperature in Murmansk, for example, is 14° F (-10° C). Novgorod, about 700 miles further south, has an average January temperature of 21° F (-6° C).


	4. Uprising

When the Great Khan's _basqaqs_ finally arrived, resentment gave rise to open rebellion in the blink of an eye. And, naturally, the tribute-collectors ran to Prince Aleksandr for help. They implored him for a body guard lest the good people of Novgorod overwhelm and kill them. And of course, Aleksandr Iaroslavich immediately complied.

What few in the city realized was that a similar drama was playing out in Wizard's End. As the Muggle _basqaqs_ prepared to conduct their tax census, wizards from the court of the Great Khan moved against wizarding Novgorod with equal rapacity.

The Warlocks' Duma was caught in the middle. Magic or no magic, the prospect of openly opposing Prince Aleksandr was unsettling—especially when he mustered his army and dispatched them to protect the Mongol officials as they swaggered through the city. The Muggle burghers who knew of the existence of wizards implored them to come to their aid. One of the first rebels to be executed was in fact a wizard deprived of his wand by a Mongol wizard's Disarming Charm and dragged before the commander of the Suzdal regiment on charges of sedition.

The chief _basqaq_ charged with conducting the census of Wizard's End was a short, swarthy wizard named Degei. For several days the students and teachers at Durmstranga Dvor watched him as he strode with impunity through Mastera Volost, accompanied by a bodyguard of half a dozen other Mongol wizards. He was a sour-faced man in a thick, fur cloak and a strange feathered cap. Instead of a wand or rod of the sort Novgorodians witches and wizards were used to seeing, he carried a staff with the finial carved in the shape of a horse's head. He and his unsavory band marched from house to house, taking the names of every witch or wizard family along with information about their occupations and the size of their homes.

Highmaster van Durmstrang knew it wouldn't be long until Degei learned of the existence of his school and began to search for its invisible entrance. He made sure everyone knew better than to pass through the gate when Degei or any of his men were around. Secretly, he worried about the trustworthiness of his neighbors. He had tried for twenty-five years to stay out of the business of the other inhabitants of Mastera Volost. He did right by them, selling them potions at far less than they were worth, repairing damaged wands, and procuring magical items for them through his extensive overseas connections. As tensions rose and violence threatened, he hoped this would be enough to buy their secrecy.

"I never should have settled in a city," he muttered to Master Gridebor, the Potions master, over supper one night.

"It made sense to be near a major trading route," the white-headed teacher said. "I certainly appreciate the ease with which fresh potion ingredients can be obtained. And books and other goods come our way from as far as London, Byzantium, and even China."

"Do I hear you voting to stay, Master Gridebor?"

Gridebor shrugged. "It's not for me to say, Highmaster. I trust your leadership. And of course this current unpleasantness is a strong argument in favor of your plans."

"I've contracted a shipbuilder in Kholmogory about a _koch_," the Highmaster said. "We can spend the summer applying the necessary enchantments. Best of all, I've finally managed to reach a deal with the vodyanoys who live in the Upper Vyg. Safe passage every year for a very reasonable price." He leaned back in his chair. "By this time next year, we shall have washed our hands of Novgorod and bloody Prince Aleksandr and his Mongols!"

The Highmaster would have said more, but at that moment Pentti burst into the refectory. His lip was bloody and his left arm looked badly burned.

"Highmaster!" he called. "There's trouble outside!"

All four teachers and most of the students rose from their seats. "Stay here," the Highmaster ordered the students, then strode into the courtyard with Pentti at his side and Master Gridebor, Master Dravenis, and Mistress Nadezhka trailing behind.

"Explain yourself, Pentti," he said.

"Abakum went out for a walk," the seventeen-year-old Finn explained, "with Krasa."

The Highmaster had wondered why those two hadn't shown up for supper.

"I saw them on Fedorova Street while I was returning from an errand in Kolduna Bazar. I…I thought I would spy on them, see where they were going, but…"

By now the five of them had passed outside the gate. On the narrow cobblestone street was a scene of pandemonium. In the distance a building was on fire. People were shouting in a handful of languages, and Abakum and Krasa were racing toward Durmstranga Dvor with a half-dozen Mongol wizards in hot pursuit.

The Highmaster drew his wand and gave a nod to Abakum. He tackled Krasa, and both of them fell to the snowy ground, clearing a way for the Highmaster's curse.

"_Postrad__'__i!_" he thundered. The nearest Mongol immediately fell to the ground, twisting in indescribable pain. Behind him, Degei the _basqaq_ trained his horse-head staff at the Highmaster and his colleagues. By now, however, the other three teachers were prepared to defend the two students scrambling toward the gate. A flurry of hexes stopped the advancing Mongols while a magical shield enveloped Krasa and Abakum.

"Inside," the Highmaster snapped.

Once inside, he rounded on Abakum. "Explain!"

"Highmaster, I-I…"

"You led them straight to our door, you idiot!"

"B-but…"

"Ghert," Mistress Nadezhka said. Only then did the Highmaster notice Krasa Baikisheva cradled in her arms. Her face was pale; her breathing shallow. As Nadezhka and Gridebor carried her to the infirmary he turned again to Abakum.

"They spotted us as we entered Mastera Volost from Fedorova Street," he explained. "The leader—the only one who speaks Russian, apparently—kept trying to question us. He didn't recognize us. He wanted to know where we lived, where we were going. Then…"

"Then Krasa got nervous," Pentti added. "She cursed him—or tried to. She tried to use the Killing Curse, but she was frightened. It had no effect."

"The next thing I knew," Abakum picked up the story, "spells were flying everywhere. Pentti appeared out of nowhere and tried to help. We managed to hold them off, but Krasa was hurt. I sent Pentti ahead to get help."

Outside, the Mongol wizards had managed to regroup. They stared at the gate, which by this time had been closed and thus rendered invisible to all who didn't belong at Durmstranga Dvor. But they still knew exactly where it was.

Degei aimed his staff on the gate and attempted to blast it open with a Reductor Curse. The gate shook. Too many more spells like that and it would fly off its hinges.

"Stupid girl," the Highmaster spat. "Always trying to prove herself! A simple Memory Charm was all that was called for. And _you_!" he rounded on Abakum. "You should have known better. You let the situation get beyond your control. I will most surely punish you later, Abakum Abakumov, but for now I need every witch and wizard healthy and battle ready."

Another Reductor Curse shook the gate. A crowd of Novgorodian wizards had begun to gather on the street, shouting and throwing their own hexes and curses at the _basqaq_ and his bodyguard.

The Highmaster turned to Pentti. "Go to the infirmary. See to that arm, and tell everyone there to gather in the refectory as soon as possible. Tell Master Gridebor to tend to the wounded there if his has to." Pentti took off at a run. Only Abakum, Master Dravenis and Highmaster van Durmstrang remained in the courtyard.

"You two must hold them off," the Highmaster said. "I'll send Evert and Kadibor to help you. I'll shoot blue sparks. That will be your signal to retreat to the refectory." The teacher and the student nodded. "Those damned Cyclopes had better be ready for us."

He spun and charged back into the main building. In the refectory, he found Evert and Kadibor and sent them into the courtyard. He scanned the room, overlooking the frightened faces of his students in his search for three suitable objects. They had to be big enough for nearly a dozen people to gather around. He settled on a tapestry hastily pulled down from the wall and spread upon the floor, an iron kettle retrieved from the kitchen, and the bench on which his Novices sat to eat.

Over each item, the Highmaster uttered his incantation.

Master Gridebor and Mistress Nadezhka at last entered the refectory with Krasa and Pentti. Krasa still looked weak and weary, but at least she was conscious. Master Gridebor urged her to take another sip of the potion he held for her. Madame Nedel'ka, the housekeeper, wandered in from the kitchen.

"Nadezhka, you go first with the Intermediates." He conjured a leaf of parchment, quill, and ink, and scribbled a hasty note. He handed it to Mistress Nadezhka. "This will explain everything to Brunt, the foreman of the Cyclopes. If he gives you any trouble, feel free to deal with him as you will."

He motioned for Nadezhka and his Intermediate students to gather around the tapestry and hold on to whatever piece of it they could reach. "Any minute," he said.

Outside, there was an explosion and the sound of twisting metal. The Mongols had breached the gate. The sounds of spells being cast—and the groans where they had hit their marks, began to be heard from the courtyard.

The first Portkey activated, and in a flash of light Mistress Nadezhka and her charges vanished.

"Novices, you're next with Master Gridebor. And you, too, Nedel'ka." They all gripped the kettle, waiting for the assigned time at which it would also vanish. Young Detleff trembled in his shoes and bit his lip to hold back tears.

The Highmaster aimed his wand at the ceiling and blasted a hole clean through it. Then he fired blue sparks high into the air above Durmstranga Dvor.

A second later, the second Portkey transported his Novices away. Only the Adepts were left. "Pentti and Krasa should have a seat on the bench," he said. The rest of you, make sure you're at least touching it." As soon as Evert and Kadibor barged into the refectory, he ordered them to grasp the bench as well. Directly behind them were Abakum and Master Dravenis.

"You two take positions at either end of the room. Get ready to Apparate on my signal. We'll meet in Kolduna Bazar, in front of Ewald van Lübeck's."

The third Portkey vanished.

Degei and his bodyguards stormed into the refectory. From the look on the _basqaq_'s face, the last thing he expected to find was a nearly empty room.

"_Postrad__'__i!_" the Highmaster shouted. Abakum and Master Dravenis followed suit, and in a heartbeat the Mongols were all curled up on the floor, shrieking in agony. Disarming Charms flung everyone's staff against the refectory wall. Next, magical ropes bound the intruders hand and foot. Highmaster van Durmstrang saluted his student and his colleague, and the two of them vanished with a _crack_!

"Snezhinka!" the Highmaster called. In a flash, a tiny figure dressed only in a scrap of tattered linen appeared at his feet.

"Highmaster van Durmstrang has need of Snezhinka?" the house-elf squeaked.

"Gather the rest of the house-elves," the Highmaster commanded. "Box up everything—and I mean _everything_! Books, lanterns, bedding, cauldrons, potion ingredients…. Am I correct that you'll be able to find me if I call for you—no matter the distance?" The elf nodded, obviously frightened.

"I'll call for you within the hour. Then you'll know where to Apparate when everything is ready. Now, get busy! We're already out of time."

The elf looked up at him with tearful blue eyes. "Y-yes, Highmaster van Durmstrang, sir." The elf vanished. The Highmaster surveyed the room, now empty except for his hostages. He gazed down upon them with a fire in his eyes.

* * *

><p>Abakum and Master Dravenis quickly huddled around Highmaster van Durmstrang as soon as he appeared in Kolduna Bazar.<p>

"Highmaster!" Abakum cried.

"Don't talk to me," he spat. "Because of you, I'm forced to flee Novgorod in the middle of the night like a common criminal. Of all the stupid—"

"It wasn't just him, Ghert," Master Dravenis said. The Highmaster glowered at him.

"Don't forget, the Muggles and their politics set the events of this night in motion. If Abakum and Krasa were foolish to seek a bit of…diversion…in the midst of a cold winter's night, then don't forget that the Novgorodians were doubly foolish for stoking the animosity of the _basqaqs_."

The Highmaster growled, unconvinced.

"You've lived among the Russians as long as I have. You know what they would say."

"_Nichevo_," the Highmaster sighed. "'It can't be helped.'"

"What's done is done, Ghert. Be thankful that, through your foresight, you already had a plan by which our school could survive."

"Perhaps, Master Dravenis." He eyed Abakum with murderous intent. "But this will be the last time I subject the future of my school to the whims of fate. I shall expect nothing more than complete secrecy about the location of our new home. Anyone who shows the slightest inclination toward carelessness or loose talk will be dealt with severely. Am I clear?"

Abakum gulped and nodded.

"Come, Ghert, and show me this castle you've been telling me about. It sounds wonderful."

Highmaster van Durmstrang extended his arms. Master Dravenis took one, and Abakum, the other. The three turned on the spot, and Disapparated with a _crack!_

* * *

><p>• The Novgorod uprising began in the winter of 1257 when Berkai and Kasachik, Mongol <em>basqaqs<em>, encountered resistance from the people of the city. They appealed to Prince Aleksandr for a bodyguard, and he mustered the Suzdal and Vladimir regiments and turned them against the citizens of Novgorod. He sent his son Vasily into exile for insubordination and supporting the rebels and had many of these rebels executed.

• Russian Pomors or "Seasiders" maintained a thriving trade across the northern coasts of Russia and Norway beginning in the Viking age. Kholmogory, 45 miles upstream from Arkhangelsk on the Northern Dvina River, was later the site of an important early shipyard.

• A _koch_ was a one- or two-masted sailing ship with a flat, rounded bottom. They were designed mainly for Arctic voyages. At a later time, they were used extensively for the exploration of Russia's Siberian rivers.

• I would be willing to give Beauxbatons a try next if there is interest. Any suggestions?


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